


Hugger

by bilesandthesourwolf (snb123)



Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-08-07 09:59:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7710736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snb123/pseuds/bilesandthesourwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Floyd Lawton didn't do hugs. Well. He was willing to make an exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hugger

**Author's Note:**

> This fandom is in dire needs of more Flagshot! So here, have this, my meager offering. Sorry if it's a bit ooc, I only know about these characters from what I saw in the movie. Also, this was inspired by [this](http://connerkent.tk/post/148487707355/im-not-a-hugger-flagshot-floyd-says-hes-not) post.

Floyd hadn’t been lying to Flag when he'd said he wasn’t a hugger. In fact, the only person he ever hugged was his daughter and she was the light of his life. So, really, maybe Floyd only hugged people he loved, and right now that number of people was a grand total of 1. 

~

The Squad, as a whole, were pretty tactile with each other, especially Flag. He willingly accepted Harley's hugs and random touches, which were always forthcoming. He'd pull Boomerang in for a one armed bro hug. Flag had seemed unsure at first on what to do with Croc, but the later took care of that by tackling Flag in a friendly wrestling match, and that's how they often interacted with each other afterward. Katana didn't touch anyone, ever, but she did pat Rick's back, or touch his hand to get his attention (and there was a story there and Floyd was dying to know it). El Diablo had been a tough one. He seemed to shun touch, fearing what might happen. But Flag was patient. He started slow, a fist held out, waiting for Diablo to bump it back, which he eventually did, with an eye roll and a smirk. From there it progressed; a friendly hand on the shoulder, a gentle pat on the back, until Diablo actually initiated a hug with Flag, at which point everyone nearly dropped their drinks. Flag had laughed and hugged Diablo back. From then, Diablo accepted the rest of the Squads touches.

As for Floyd, Flag never tried to hug him again. He'd get a friendly slap on the back or a heavy hand clap on his shoulder after another successful mission. And Floyd was just fine with that.

~

Flag had been so uptight and cold when they'd first met that Floyd had actually considered offing the man himself. Of course, that hadn't been an option, given the whole, “Flag dies, we all die” catch they'd been stuck in. But after the mess of Midway City, he'd lightened up. Floyd figured it was due to Flag having his girlfriend alive and free of possession. But Flag had continued his new behavior, more smiles and laughs, more jokes and touching. Maybe, Floyd figured, that was who Flag really was; they'd just met him on the wrong day, in a bad situation. And that was cool with him, they all definitely worked better with a “handler” who was less uptight and controlling. 

But June had soon left, saying she needed time to figure things out. Floyd didn't blame her, he knew he'd be on hell of a mess if he'd been possessed by an ancient witch. Flag had been down about it, but he'd hidden it well, throwing himself and the Squad into more missions. As they succeeded more and became closer as a group, Flag gradually returned to his normal self and everyone had breathed a sigh of relief. 

~

As the Squad continued to be successful, Waller started to loosen her reign over them. Sure, they still had to go back to the prison at the end of the day, but things were different. Their old guards were replaced, their “accommodations” less miserable, the food infinitely better. Flag would stop by for visits, stopping by everyone's cells to make sure they were doing alright. He'd stop and chat with Floyd, trivial things, while sliding his daughter's letters through the hole in the door. Floyd appreciated it more than he was willing to admit, both the letters and Flag's company. 

One night, after they'd saved a bunch of civilians and a city block with minimal structural damage, Waller, after much arguing from Flag, had allowed the Squad to go to a bar for a drink before heading back to the prison. Of course, the bar had been emptied of everyone but the Squad and Flag's team, but still. It felt like heaven to be sitting at the counter, nursing a drink, while his friends – and yes, Floyd could admit that they were his friends, something he hadn't had in a long time – drank and laughed around him. 

Croc was in a corner with some of Flag's men, soundly drinking them under the table. Boomerang and Diablo were down the bar with Edwards, discussing the merits of a hand grenade versus a flamethrower, and Floyd had to laugh at that. Harley was openly flirting with anyone within earshot, and that just so happened to be Katana, more often than not. Floyd grinned at the antics of his group before downing his shot.

“Looks like you need another,” Flag stated as he slid into the seat next to his, brandishing a bottle of tequila.

“I'm not gonna pass up this golden opportunity,” Floyd replied, sliding his shot glass across the bar. “Who knows when the next time The Supreme Leader of All will let this happen again.”

Flag snorted as he filled both their glasses. “C'mon, Lawton. She's loosened up a bit, right?”

“And I wonder why that is,” Floyd said, eyebrow raised in Flag's direction, as he took his glass back.

Flag grinned, lifted his glass in salute before throwing his head back and downing the drink, which Floyd mirrored. As their glasses clinked against the bar top, Flag turned to him, intent look on his face. “I may have had somethin' to do with that. God knows you guys deserve somethin' in return for what you're doin' here.”

“Thanks are in order, then.” Floyd slid his glass back for a refill. “The team appreciates it.”

Flag, eyes on the drinks, asked, “And you? Do you appreciate it?”

Finding it hard to read the other man without seeing his face, Floyd answered steadily, “Yeah, I do.”

“Good,” Flag said, handing his full glass back. “I'm glad.”

They clinked their glasses together before tossing the tequila back. That was the night Floyd stopped calling him Flag and started calling him Rick.

~

After that night, the Squad was able to stay out a little bit before returning to the prison after missions. They would go to empty bars or pizza joints. Sometimes, they'd end up at the base to unwind, maybe watch a movie or play cards. 

Floyd usually found himself in the company of Rick. They'd talk about their latest successful mission, things they could do to improve on their teamwork. Rick would talk about his life before the Special Forces and Floyd would talk about his daughter and what she'd recently written him about; they'd laugh over her math analogies including bullet trajectory. 

Floyd was surprised to find that he enjoyed Rick's company, his easy smile and even easier conversation. He even found himself enjoying the warm hand that would land on his shoulder or back, friendly in nature, but somehow feeling like something more. Floyd was even more surprised to find that he missed Rick when he was back at the prison, alone but the occasional conversation with a guard. It was a disconcerting thought and Floyd tried to squash it to the back of his mind. But whenever they were all together and that familiar hand found it's way to his shoulder, Floyd had a hard time not shuddering at the contact.

~

Their next mission took a hard left into Shitsville when the baddy of the week and his flying robot army tried to rob a bank. The robots weren't big, or necessarily hard to take out. The problem was that the sheer number of them was overwhelming. 

Floyd was positioned behind an overturned car, taking out as many of the things as he could, Rick at his side, while the others tried to get close to the villain and his remote control. It looked like they were just gaining the upper hand when a group of robots flew overhead, bullets flying. Floyd heard a sharp gasp to his left and turned just in time to catch Rick as he fell forward, hand clutching his side. Floyd lowered Rick to the pavement as gently as he could.

“Shit,” he swore as he saw the blood oozing between Rick's fingers.

“It's not that bad,” Rick grunted, his grimace of pain belying his words.

“Like hell it's not. Keep pressure on it,” Floyd said, while scanning their surroundings for the rest of their team. Croc was closest, going to town on a robot. “Croc!,” he shouted. “Get over here.”

While Croc made his way over, Floyd grabbed Rick's walkie off his belt. “Edwards,” he yelled into the walkie. “Rick's down. Call for an evac. Croc's gonna get him back to Main Street.”

“Damn,” Edward's voice crackled over the walkie. It was silent for a moment before his voice came back. “Evac will be at Main Street in 5.”

“Thanks,” Floyd replied before clipping the walking to his own belt. He turned to find Croc kneeling next to a very pale Rick. “Croc,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “You gotta carry him outta here. An evac team is gonna meet you at Main Street.”

“Yes,” Croc growled. He maneuvered Rick into his arms as carefully as possible before taking off down the street at a trot.

Floyd caught Rick's eye, something tight and painful twisting in his chest, as the soldier was carried away from him.

~

Later, the Squad would take great pleasure in teasing Floyd about how he single-handedly took out every last robot and then shot the villain straight between the eyes, face a mask of pure rage.

Floyd will tell them they're full of shit, but he knows what he's capable of. He also has no delusions about how furious he'd been in that moment.

~

Floyd doesn't know how he managed it, he doesn't know what his face betrayed, but he somehow found Waller allowing him into Rick's room once he'd gotten out of surgery. Floyd shed his gear and pulled a chair up next to the bed. He sat with a heavy sigh, eyes never leaving the figure lying unconscious next to him. Rick's face was still pale, having lost so much blood. The doctor's said he was lucky; the bullet had missed any vital organs and the surgery had been a success. It didn't stop Floyd from worrying, feeling like he'd almost lost someone who had become so important to him.

Floyd rested his arms on the bed next to Rick's leg. He breathed out a shaky sigh before dropping his head onto his arms and closing his eyes. It's been an emotional day and Floyd found himself nodding off without meaning to.

~

Floyd jolted awake when a warm hand softly touched his arm. He sat up, eyes quickly scanning Rick's face. Rick had a tiny smile on his face, eyes blinking slowly. “Hey,” he said, voice groggy.

Before he knew what he was doing, Floyd had climbed onto the bed, squeezed himself in next to Rick – mindful of his injured side – and wrapped his arm around Rick's torso as tightly as he dared, his head pillowed on Rick's shoulder.

Floyd felt a huff, that could have been a laugh, against his forehead. “I thought you weren't a hugger,” Rick said quietly, lips ghosting across Floyd's skin.

“Shut up, man,” Floyd replied, nuzzling his face into Rick's neck. “You almost died. These are extenuating circumstances.”

“Whatever you say,” Rick answered, voice tired but playful. Floyd tried not to shiver as he felt an arm curl around his lower back before settling on his hip. “I'm gonna go back to sleep. Try not to drool on me too much.”

Floyd snorted as he settled into Rick more comfortably. “I don't drool,” he said, but he knew it was fruitless as Rick's breathing had evened out again, having fallen back to sleep.

Floyd closed his eyes and breathed a sigh of relief. Rick was alive, Rick was fine. Rick had his arm around him and Floyd was hugging Rick. And Floyd wasn't surprised by how good it felt, lying here with Rick. It felt right. It felt like home.

~

Floyd Lawton was not a hugger. But he was will to make exceptions for those he loved.


End file.
